


Petals and Wings

by AlbiNora, CuriouslyCheekyCheye



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon complaining, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dehumanization, Disability, Disabled Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Better, Manipulation, Outside the abyss we go!, Overstimulation, Physical Disability, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Toxic Relationship, Trauma, ill add tags as i go, no compliance over her no sirree, the maybe tens of thousands of vessels in the void, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbiNora/pseuds/AlbiNora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriouslyCheekyCheye/pseuds/CuriouslyCheekyCheye
Summary: The beginning of a life is a quiet thing. There are no fears, there are no worries, only the patience of waiting to hatch.Then their egg is cracked open from the outside, and the only choice they have is to move forward.
Relationships: Hornet (Hollow Knight) & Original Character(s), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Original Character(s), The Knight (Hollow Knight) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 156





	1. Blinded

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to work on my gem au series, but then i got distracted by school, schoolwork, and the beautifully tragic characters of Hollow Knight. Whoops.  
> Enjoy!

Life…

Life a strange thing.

It’s when something gains a consciousness, when it can move and make decisions and respond to outside stimuli. No one can truly pinpoint _when_ life begins, only that it is there.

They do not know when theirs begins. There is no moment when they take a breath, open their eyes, and live. No, the beginning is a quiet, drifting thing. It is calm and soft, and they have to do nothing but wait. It’s a good way to start.

Except… it doesn’t stay.

They shift in their soft confinement, comfortably curled into themself. They could stay here forever.

Outside there’s a sound. Sounds. It’s many, it’s sharp, and it jars them to wake a bit. What is shaking this peaceful, still-waiting calm from them?

A thump.

Another, paired with a crack.

Again, and again, with ever-increasing frequency. They pierce through the silence. Something stirs within them, a tugging in their chest, and they squirm.

They don’t want to leave this comfortable space. Not yet. They feel too fragile to break through it, so it can’t be time. Besides, whatever is out there is loud and sudden. They don’t know how they would handle the transition. Best to wait.

Then their space shakes, and a clatter sounds as something hits it. They startle. Nothing happens for a moment, but. Another thump, right above their head.

A crack forms.

Another thump. Another crack.

Again. Again.

_Again._

They try to move back, but it’s hard. Impossible. There’s nowhere to go, the shell is going to break. They aren’t ready to come out, they don’t want to go out and see what is making those loud, crackling noises.

Finally, a piece breaks off. They didn’t know how much the shell muffled until there was nothing between them and those _cracks._

 _Sharp_ , _loud_ , with whistles and scratching and _what is that horrible screeching screaming?_

Their chest beats and their hands scrabble for their head. It’s a clumsy movement uselessly trying to block out what the shell protected them from, and they dare not move to see what’s out there. No, no, they’d rather stay _right_ here.

They cannot close their eyes or turn far, so when a white streak flies across the corner of their vision, they can’t miss it. There are so many of them.

Another hits their broken shell, and they realize they’re shaking. Why won’t it stop? Stop the thumping, stop the flying white streaks. They are unsettled, their chest is beating so loud, the screeching and white streaks have only become more. _Stop it. Stop it!_

The hole becomes gapingly wide, and their shell rolls over with the force of another hit. With nowhere to go and nothing to hold, they tumble out.

The ground is so hard against their softness, coarse and rough. It scrapes against them, and they use weak, thin arms to lift themself. Their limbs are seizing from this thing that’s rising in them.

The white streaks are falling from the sky all around, and as they hit the ground they shatter. Like the shell behind them, broken pieces are scattered everywhere.

They want to hide. Find a safe place and wait until the streaks stop and their body becomes the hard protection it should be.

Then a new sound arises. Not loud, not sharp, but undeniably _there_.

_Come, vessels._

Within those words are commands the vessels cannot deny. Stand and follow. Be empty of mind and will, pure as Void can be. They are helpless to its whims and get up on wobbly legs. They make it two steps, then stumble.

Their head bounces on the stone. A ringing joins the chaos of noise. The call, however, rises above it all.

_Come to me._

They stand again, take a few steps, and fall.

It becomes repetitive, and they enter some sort of daze as they follow the voice higher and higher. Over boulders and painful shards. Between other shells – _eggs-_ and things like themself chasing the call. They painfully pull themself onto pillars, and uselessly try jumping to platforms.

_Come to me._

They are, they are going as fast as their body will allow. But they are small, and soft, and not yet ready. They don’t reach the platforms and often end up getting shoved aside.

The others are much more sure-footed. They seem to effortlessly find places in the stone to dig their tiny claws and kick themselves into the air with unfailing strength. Some have wings, thin and transparent, that give them an extra boost.

The vessel tries it themself, but they don’t have wings, just this soft and smooth material that is only a bit away from reaching the ground. They can see others that are the same.

Longer, shorter, more panels, fewer. Their bodies are as black as the vessel’s and heads just as round. They can only be distinguished by their heights and their horns. One can barely tell what is a wing and what is the material when it is folded closed.

_Come to me._

Any thoughts of those who look like them – _siblings-_ is pushed aside. They follow. They try to jump onto the next ledge but don’t get too far. Then they spot some boulders close by and use them as stepping stones to progress.

Slowly but surely they get higher, closer to the voice. They can see a light, practically blinding them, and know that is both the source and their destination. It’s higher still, but they must get to it.

There are no thoughts of ‘why’, no cares for the scratches and dents in their shell. They must follow.

As they get higher, they see more siblings. They see more white streaks too, and broken shards. Above them, one sibling has failed a jump to a boulder embedded in the wall. There is nothing to catch them, and the vessel realizes where the white streaks are coming from.

That means…

_Come to me._

They don’t want to go further. They are small and soft, and the path ahead has no ground. It is only pillars spaced too far apart, and jagged spikes inviting them to fall. They won’t make it.

They start shaking again. Arms hug their sides and they try to dig their feet in.

_Come to me._

They move without their permission and shake harder. It slows them enough to see another sibling fly past them.

No, no, they won’t make it, they won’t!

The edge creeps closer.

Stop! _Stop!_

They once more become aware of the snapping of heads and the screams of fear and pain.

_They don’t want to be a white streak! They don’t want to be shattered pieces!_

They reach the edge.

_No, they don’t want to fall! They don’t want to die!_

The voice, deaf to their pleas, commands, _Come to me._

They jump. They fall.

_Father!_

Their scream echoes with all the others as they descend back into the dark.


	2. Reaching Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I have a beta! Who helps me write plots and chapters!! Say hello to AlbiNora!  
> Trigger: I don't want to spoil, but be ready for loss of limbs and a lot of pain. If there's anything else i need to add, please tell me. 
> 
> Now enjoy the chapter!

Consciousness came back slowly, like water trickling drop-by-drop into sand. It sinks away almost as soon as they have it, and it takes them what feels like forever for their grasp to hold steady. 

Then they wish they didn’t. They wish they had surrendered to oblivion. 

They don’t know where they’ve landed; they lay on their back on hard lumps and pointed ridges. Their shell feels bruised and sharp edges pierce nicks and cuts across them. Their greatest pain, however, comes from their leg. 

The vessel tries to shift, but whatever they lay on is dislodged by their movement. The jerk downwards leaves them gasping. Whatever pierced their leg is still there, and it feels like it had just torn the wound further. 

They twist their head sideways, looking for help, and see in the distance siblings marching to the platforms. They try to call for them, but nothing happens. Overwhelmed as they are, they can’t make a sound. 

There must be some way to get their attention. 

Another sibling falls, the sound of shell and mask thunderously cracking through the quiet. The shards catch their eye as it shoots away, and they form an idea. 

Shaky hands feel around for one of their siblings’ shards, a loose piece they can grab onto and lift. Once they have one, they bring it up higher than their head and swing down. 

_Clank!_

They bring it up again, and down. 

_ Clank!  _

This has to be able to get someone’s attention. Somehow, past the call and the cracks and the ever-increasing agony, this  _ has  _ to be able to get help. 

_ Clank!... Clank!... Clank!  _

They don’t want to die here. They shouldn’t have survived that fall, but they refuse to die just because they can’t reach the Light. 

Time almost seems to fade, only being measured by how tired they are, how their arm hurts. The world becomes blurry and the pile moves under them. Or perhaps it’s the vessel moving? Their head feels too light. Regardless of all this, they keep swinging. 

_ Clank!...  _

_Clank!..._

They feel so tired. Their body is becoming numb. 

_ Clank!  _

They again lift their arm slowly. Before they drop it, something grabs hold. 

They startle, flinching again and reawakening that pain. They just as quickly fall limp, and it takes a moment for their vision to clear. 

In front of them is a kneeling, _ living  _ sibling with thin horns who is staring right at them. They hear a sort of static that they feel they should be able to recognize, but everything around them is trapped in a muffled mist. 

Their sibling tilts their head and tugs the vessel’s arm. They seem to want them to stand up, or follow them. They give up pulling when the vessel doesn’t move. A moment of further observation alerts them as to why. 

Thin Horns pats the vessel’s head, and another wave of static goes over them. A stray thought  murmurs that the other is trying to tell them something, yet all that comes through is the pain of the ground shifting as they leave. 

Where are they going? Are they leaving them alone? No, come back! Don’t go away, don’t leave them alone! 

The vessel gathers all the energy they have left over and try to drag themselves after the other, but it’s no use. They are stuck and the sibling isn’t looking back. 

With no energy left, and all hope crushed, they lie motionless. All that’s left for the vessel is to die. 

Time passes once more, and they can feel more and more of themself slip away. The awareness they had fought so hard for drains from their grasp, and soon, so will their life. 

Would it have been kinder to die in the fall, or should they consider this the merciful end? No, they’d rather their end not be this slow and agonizing. They wonder how much longer it will take for them to fade completely. 

The vessel doesn’t notice their sibling’s return, this time with another at their side. The first points at them and demonstrates how to safely climb atop the mound of dead that still grows taller. The two hold each other's hands as they make their way to the vessel. 

Thin Horns nudges the vessel gently, then harder when they don’t move. The other, one with thicker horns, turns the vessel’s head. 

The only way to tell if a sibling is dead, besides a shattered mask, is their eyes. If one could see the inside of their mask, then they are a shade, and thus dead. But if that rolling, roiling, unwillingly-confined void still stirs, then the sibling lives. 

This sibling is not yet gone, and will not be if the two can help them. 

Thin Horns keeps their hand on the vessel’s head and points to their leg with the other. On the left leg, right under the joint, the shell is pierced through by a horn from a stray head. The vessel’s leg is so thin, and the horn so thick, that their shell cracked and bulged to the sides. The whole thing was leaking wretched void and staining their petals. 

First thing is to get them off that horn. It won’t be long before another wave of siblings follow the Light’s call and join the pile. The twins’ egg is already buried; they don’t need to be too. 

Thick Horns intends to lift the leg and slide it off the horn, but as soon as they place their hands on either side, the sibling with differing horns screams and jerks. 

The twins jump back, startled, and freeze when a wet crack sounds.

A sound so identical to the ones those around them made and followed then by that same cold silence and sudden limpness. 

They hurry to Differing Horns’ side. Thin Horns goes to their head, grasping it with both hands and checking for emptiness or holes. Thick Horns goes to their leg, taking one look and flinching back again. 

Everything that was under the horn is gone. Ripped away, brutally and jagged. Chips of shell cling to strips of flesh, and the Void flows freely. 

Thin Horns looks up when they gasp, then down just as fast when they yell _Don’tLook_ _Don’tLook_ _!_

They try to staunch it by holding it tight with their hands, and while it helps, it doesn’t solve anything. 

They search around for a solution, then call to their sibling _BringMePetals_ _._

_ Why? Where?  _

_ FromSiblings _ _.  _ _ BringHere _ , they insist. When their twin rips off a sibling’s petals and gives it to them, they still insist they not look. 

Thick Horns wraps the petals around the wound, layer over layer until the Void can only just stain the edges. When they are finished, Differing  Horns’ leg is almost completely wrapped up, and a vein from one petal is twisted and tied off around the leg to ensure nothing unravels. 

_ SafeNow _ _.  _ _ CanLook _ _.  _

They call their twin, and together the two get one arm over their shoulders each and hop down the pile. They need to be careful, looking for wide enough footholds and making the least jarring jumps they can. 

The sibling does not seem to mind if the two are unsteady. They have not even twitched since falling unconscious. 

Thin Horns shifts anxiously while they make their way to an alcove where the others will not fall on them. They do not like having to carry a sibling so still. Thick Horns reaches their arm further across the sibling’s back to pat their shoulder. 

When they reach the alcove, they lower the sibling to the ground. Their only leg easily folds to the side. Thin Horns slides down the wall and pulls Differing Horns closer, laying them half on top of the elder and wrapping an arm around their chest. They fall into an uneasy rest. 

Thick Horns takes a moment to look at the two, then does a quick perimeter check. No siblings will be interested in attacking them, and there doesn’t seem to be anything else in this Abyss to be wary of. 

Their gaze locks onto the hint of light shining from above. The Light that forever calls, and the siblings that fall for daring to follow. 

That Light... 

They sit on the other side of Differing Horns and huddle in too. But they do not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have yeeted the child. All is well. 
> 
> So two guesses who the other two vessels are. One guess per vessel.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment and kudos on your way out! See you next time!!


	3. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for death and terror.

At first, the three do not leave their alcove. It is safe, and the sand makes a semi-comfortable resting place. No-one can fall on them, and the Light cannot blind them here.

That does not stop them from getting restless, though. The twins are always fidgeting and wandering around the alcove, keeping an eye out for anything that may stumble upon them. 

Thin Horns moves the most, speeding from one place to the other as though they are being chased. Their wings flutter behind them, torn jagged and unable to do more than stir up dust.

They do everything they can near the alcove. Build mounds of sand to slide down, cling to walls and test how far they can jump, climb walls just so they can fall into the sand...

Thick Horns, when they are not trying to keep Thin Horns’ feet on the ground, seems content to stay close and stare up to the pillars and ledges that fade into the distance.

They always stare at a fixed point, no matter where they stand. Sometimes a falling sibling will pull their eye, but when they hear the sharp cracks that signals  their ends, they return to their watch.

Differing Horns stays where their siblings had put them, sleeping in fitful bursts and spending the rest of the time in a half-conscious daze. In the beginning they are too far away in their own head to hear the twins.

Then Differing Horns truly wakes up. They can hear now, and respond, but they can also feel the throbbing pain of their missing leg. The youngest of the three is thus, for the moment, very content to lie still and stay still.

The three can’t stay in their small corner forever, though. Eventually they have to move. 

It’s not surprising that Thin Horns is the first to venture further away. A short walk and a few hops from the alcove first, and slowly further, deeper, gone for longer periods of time. 

Thick Horns is next, following their twin into the darkness. Differing Horns is always so afraid that the two would not come back, that they would be trapped here. When they return Differing Horns clings to them and forces them to rest in the alcove. They do not protest.

It takes long, so long that many waves of siblings come and go, but the pain ebbs, and the wound scabs and scars. Differing Horns can finally sit up and move, albeit slowly, and the twins waste no time taking them along on their next walk.

Thick Horns wedges themself under Differing Horns’ left arm and help them hobble forward. Thin Horns bounds forward, waving excitedly to nothing in particular.

_ ComeSiblings _ _!  _ _ Hurry! _

It’s difficult and tiring, but they hop faster regardless. Their sibling's energy feels like it’s seeping into them, and they want to be part of the joy.

_ Going! _ They  call after them , a nd feel Thick Horns sigh as they pick up the pace.

* * *

Up and down they wander, from one side of the caverns to the other. Past siblings still going up, and past batches of eggs waiting to hatch. That's all there really is here, so deep into the caverns. If they travel deeper, they’ll reach a tower that shines upon the writhing sea 

The twins warn them against treading near those waters. As soon as it’s in view it will start to call, as strong as the Light does to those who haven’t fallen. It offers peace, rest, an end to the pain. Do not be tempted, and do not get close.

Differing Horns is not taken to the sea, but they see Siblings as broken as them crawl to its cavern. They hope they find peace.

There are other small rooms higher up, in places where  the bodies do not yet close off the tunnels. Thick Horns uses their wings to jump up the ledges first, then waits for Thin Horns to boost up Differing Horns, and finally catches and pulls up their twin when they fall short.

_ LightCalled _ _ , _ Thin Horns explained  once, when Differing asked if they ever tried to leave . _ Followed. Fell.  _ _ SpikesCaughtWings _ _.  _

Their wings were whole once, Differing Horns thinks, then scolds themself for being silly. Of course,  never have they seen a winged vessel born with tattered wings.

Thin Horns continues,  _ Survived.  _ _ NotJumpFarNow _ _. _

Differing Horns looked to Thick Horns, asking,  _ YouSurviveHow _ _? _

Thick Horns looks away from that fixed point, the one that Differing Horns fears they might know, and answers,  _ NoFall.  _ _ TurnedBack _ _.  _ _ ForTwin _ _. _

Differing Horns didn’t know one could deny the call, or go against it. They feel admiration for their sibling who didn’t need to be broken to escape the Light.

Thin Horns huffs and stands up, done with resting.  _ ComeComeFollow! _

_ StillTiredNo _ _ ,  _ T hick Horns shakes their head. 

_ ComeGo! _

_ No. _

Thin Horns stomps their foot petulantly. Thick Horns responds by lying flat on the ground. Differing Horns makes the mistake of laughing, because Thin Horns immediately pulls them up and starts almost dragging them into the tunnel. 

_ YouStay _ _ ,  _ _ WeGo _ _.  _ They decide. Thick Horns waves them off, sitting up and putting their back to the wall to keep  a  look ou t.

The two  hobble into the tunnel, not really expecting anything more than what they've already seen. Rock, stone, perhaps a bit of loose sand. It’s  possible they could see another sibling, but not very.

What they do not see is a sibling, but they do see a mask.

Deeper in is another mask.

And another.

None of these looks anything like the vessels’ masks. They are too big, too long, and the eyes are the completely wrong shape. 

Differing Horns and Thin Horns turn to each other, faces mirrored in all details except for their horns. 

Thin Horns with their two horns that are thinner than their arms, and the split at the ends. Differing Horns with their one horn that waves to the side, and the other that also waves, but bends down sharply near the end. 

Even Thick Horns looks almost exactly like Thin Horns, only their horns are thicker than their arms and split lower.

These masks have none of those characteristics. The  two  approach m ore c autiously. 

The further they go, the more masks they see, in pairs of twos and  threes all huddled together. The pairs lie in separate circles carved into the stone which intersect and loop together so much it covers the entire floor.

At the end of the cavern there’s a sort of platform, with scratches in the wall right behind it. The scratches and curls clump together and seem to follow some kind of boundary. They were undoubtably put there with some kind of intension.

_ WhatWhy _ _? _ Differing Horns asks, pushing away from Thin Horns and half falling to the wall. They brace themself against it and hopping to the platform, where they sit facing the  scratches and run their small hands over it. 

They note that many of them look exactly the same, scattered as they are.

_ Unknown. _ Ghost answers. They go to pick up one of the skulls and turn it this way and that.  _ NotSibling _ _ ,  _ _ NotLight _ _ ,  _ _ AskThickHorns _ _? _

Differing Horns pats the scratches one last time, then crawls to the edge  of the platform.  _ Won’tKnow _ they say, because what Thin Horns doesn’t know, their twin certainly wouldn’t.

Thin Horns shrugs,  _ NoMatter _ _ ,  _ and together the two go back to Thick Horns.

* * *

The three  wander peacefully, only occasionally having something new cross their path. 

But, as Differing Horns had learned far too soon, peace does not last.

They had stopped once again  to rest under a series of pillars, close enough to the Light that they could see it reflecting off their siblings’ face high up. 

Thick Horns and Differing Horns watch them as they almost fly from one rock to the other. The vessels who make it this far are much more skilled and surer footed than the siblings deeper in. 

Much stronger too, Differing Horns thinks as one jumps an impressive height that they couldn’t hope to achieve. They are sure the twins could have gotten here on their own, and they might have in the past. They walk these paths as though they are familiar with them.

The vessel takes care not to look at the vicious spikes jutting from the walls, decorated with siblings long gone.

Thick Horns clenches their fists when the sibling nearly misses the platform, then sighs when they pull themself higher and continue on. Thin Horns has never watched, not being able to bear seeing the shattered shards and splattered void fly.

What is more terrible, Differing Horns wonders distantly, shuddering as another one jumps. Making yourself watch them die, or refusing  to do so?

They always flinch away when a sibling hits the ground, but Thick Horns keeps their gaze fixed wide open. 

Could they  _ ever _ be strong  enough to watch unfailingly or to turn away from the horrors,  ignoring it ?

Their thoughts are  interrupted by the rumble of loose stone above them.

A boulder imbedded into the wall starts to slide and crack, used one too many times as a rough landing. The sibling on it stutters for a moment, then shoots off before they fall with it. They do not look back.

The twins immediately scramble away, instinct and trained reflexes taking control of them. Differing Horns tries to do the same, but their one leg is not powerful or balanced enough to let them jump more than a few feet away. If the boulder does not crush them, then it’s pieces will surely shoot through them and leave the vessel dead.

They close their eyes, that horrible choking fear rising up in their chest.  _ They cannot escape death again.  _

Just as the first pebbles rain around them, arms sweep around their waist and throw them to safety in a forceful gust of wind.

Their mind is blank with terror when, hardly a second later, the boulder slams against the ground with a mighty roar. The sound echoes through the caverns and tunnels, silencing the eternal screaming for but a moment. The Light itself pauses, then continues its unending call. 

They feel the arms around them loosen as their sibling sits up. Thick Horns stares down at them, shaking and gasping. 

Thin Horns is by their sides in an instant, and urges the two to a more stable alcove away from the pillars. Differing Horns feels numb as they move.

_ Siblings? _ Thin Horns asks carefully.  _ SiblingsOkay _ _? _

_ Okay _ , Thick Horns breaths out. They are still shaking.  _ SafeNow _ _. Okay. _

Thin Horns waits a moment, looking over to Differing Horns. No reply comes from them. 

_ Sibling? _

The youngest still does not say anything. They remain frozen, eyes wide open and barely breathing. Thin Horns takes a hold of their shoulder and lightly shakes them.

A sharp gasp leaves Differing Horns, startling the twins. Another one tears from the smallest, then more. Before they know it, they are curled up and hugging themself. Wounded, scared wails leave them, so close to screams, as all the terror tries to escape their body at once. 

The other two startle at the sudden noise, then gather together. Thin Horns presses close to them and pushes them into the elder’s chest in an attempt to comfort, while Thick Horns follows, holding them the tightest they ever have before.

_So- So-_ Differing Horns chokes out, unwrapping their arms so they can cling onto their siblings’ wings. _SoScared_ _SoScared_ _NoWantDie_ _! WantLive. WantLiveMore..._

_ YouHave, YouWill,  _ Thin Horns reassures, rubbing their back.

_ SafeNow _ _ ,  _ _ WePromise _ _ ,  _ Thick Horns agrees. Their trembling has stopped, but their words are unsteady. 

Differing Horns shakes their head frantically. They will die. In this horrible,  _ horrifying _ Abyss they  _ will die. _ There is nowhere to go and no way to escape, and the caves grow more dangerous as more siblings fall.

Tunnels become blocked off with their corpses, and the piles collapse and cause avalanches as the bodies shift. Rocks break and the Light calls, and  _ they will not survive _ .

_ Shhh _ _ Shh  _ _ Shhh _ _ ,  _ Thick Horns hushes as they pull the other two deeper into the alcove. Further from the platforms.  _ WillNot _ _ LetHappen _ _ ,  _ _ Refuse _ _ ToHappen _ _.  _

_ Will!  _ _ WillHappen _ _! CanStopIt _ _ Not _ _!  _ They wail.

_ WillNot _ _!  _ _ SiblingsProtect _ _!  _ _ WillDieBefore _ _!  _ _ NoLetHa _ _ -!  _ Thick horns hurries to say, only to be interupted and stopped in their tracks.

_ WillNot _ _! _ Thin Horns says forcefully, flinging an arm around their twin as well.  _ NoMoreDie!  _ _ NotTwin _ _ ,  _ _ NotSibling _ _! _

Thick Horns is adamant, _DieBeforeLetSiblingsDie_ _,_ _TakeAnyDamadge_ _InSiblingStead_ _,_ _DoAny_ _Siblings_ _Will_ _Survive_ _!_

_ NoNoNoPleaseNo...  _ Differing Horns whisper between them. The two stop their argument, and move so the three of them are laying down. 

Thick Horns lies against the wall, with Differing Horns sniffling against their chest. Their twin curled around the smallest at the cavern opening.

The other two fall into uneasy and  shuddering sleep, but Thick Horns finds themself once again focused on the hint of Light that reflects on the walls  far above them.

They would do anything so the other two wouldn’t suffer. Anything so this madness could end and the forever fall of siblings could come to a rest. And there is only one way to ensure that.

The Light calls, and they have not yet fallen and failed. 

* * *

A time comes when the call of the Light seems to reach its peak, for all that it does not change. Perhaps it is a moment of weakness, or the screams and pain of the others cause temporary madness, but it is enough for the Light to grab hold. 

Thin Horns and Differing Horns follow their third member dutifully, not noticing anything wrong until the Light is in sight, unblocked by stone or piles. It is only a mere glimmer in the distance, yet the sight strikes fear into their hearts.

Differing Horns tenses,  tearing their  eyes away from the still cascading siblings.  _ WeLeave? _

Thin Horns rapidly shakes their head and pulls them away from the edge of the path, although they’d prefer if they could get away from the Light entirely. The fear that Differing Horns falls again is great. What if they lose another limb?

What if they lose their life?

_ SiblingsUp _ _?  _ _ FollowLight _ _?  _ Thick Horns’ voice drifts up from behind them. Why do they sound so... entranced?

Their gaze, as always, is fixed on that cursed Light. They  take a step forward.

The other two recoil, then thin Horns speaks,  _ No!  _ They leave Differing Horns’ side and grab onto Thick Horns’ hand to pull them away.  _ NoLightBadLight! _

Differing Horns joins in, voice cracking with fear,  _ NotLight _ _!  _ _ LightHurt _ _!  _ _ LightBlind _ _!  _ Do they not remember how they lost their leg, or how Thin Horns’ wings were torn apart? 

Thick Horns does not react.

Thin Horns turns them around and shakes them by their shoulder, but their head still turns to the Light. Panic and fear echo as they scream,  _ LightSeeksEmpty!  _ _ NotThinking _ _ ,  _ _ NoWill _ _! _

Nothing.

_ WeWant _ _ ,  _ _ WeThink _ _.  _ _ NotEmpty _ _!  _

Thick Horns looks at them, and a flicker of hope appears before they roughly shove their twin’s hands off. They step away, fearless and determined.  _ CanBe,  _ _ WillBe _ _. _

Thin Horns lunges after them, but misses when their twin jumps to the first platform. _Stop! Stop,_ _WillFail_ _WillFall_ _!_ They cry.

_ WillSucceed _ _. _

As thought their argument is over and done, they shoot off, jumping higher and higher, Thin Horns rushing after them, leaving Differing Horns behind.

_ ComeBack _ _ , Stop! _ They wail, nothing but a whisper on the heel of the two. Their words are lost to the void around them as the twins fade away into the distance. 

They are alone again. They have been left behind, no way to get down to safer  grounds or progress. 

Fear overflows from their chest again. They are not in danger of dying here, but their sibling will. Their foolish, foolhardy sibling that has not fallen and has not learned to block the Call. 

Their foolish, Light cursed sibling who will fall. Their sibling who will be lost.

Differing Horn waits alone, as far away from any edges as they could get. They wait as others pass them and jump. They wait for the screams of the twins, as all the others screamed.

Then everything stops. 

It is quiet.

No siblings move, no Call beckons. 

There is only one thunderous, blood-chilling sound before everything becomes so much worse.

**_ Bang. _ **

The Light disappears, and the whole world descends into chaos.

Whatever order there was to the siblings’ focused following is torn away as they lunge from pillar to pillar recklessly. Those who make it take no chance to consider their next move and throw themselves onward, those who don’t claw hopelessly at stone as they plummet.

The cracks are endless, the screams deafening, terror seeps into the very air as the one passage that could have allowed them freedom is sealed off.

There is no Call, not anymore, but siblings die like they never have before.

And all that remains for Differing Horns to do is curl up on the cold, dark floor, wailing in tearless agony with their thousands of trapped siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we trying to rip out hearts? Perhaps. But hey, what can we say? The Abyss is not a good place for good times.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a kudos and comment on your way out! See you next time!


	4. Climbing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write. Enjoy!

What is worse: The screams?

Or the silence?

So few  fall now, so few even bother to climb up. Perhaps they can’t, buried under bodies as they may be. The rumbling of avalanches rang through the caverns for a while, and none came to the pillars until long after.

Differing Horns has not moved from their place near the entrance. They don’t see a point. Nowhere to go, nothing to see, no one to travel with. 

Some small part of them says they are waiting for the twins. The rest of them tries to strangle it. The two are dead. If the chase didn’t kill them, then the rush did. Nothing to it.

And  so, they sit there, waiting. 

How sad.

A shade floats past their ledge, one that looks like a sibling they had seen not too long ago. Another death, and another piece of void that will return to the sea. 

They wonder if there are more shades than siblings, now. 

Another one flies into view. They hesitate to look at it, but then it comes to a stop right in front them.

White eyes, so like that Cursed Light, glare into them from a void-black figure. Those thin horns...

_Sibling-_ They choke. This is it. Proof.

This shade, the ghost of regret and pain has come to them to  confirm that all hope is lost.

There is nothing left.

_ Nothing- _

The shade screeches and flings itself away, scaring Differing Horns into covering themself. More screeches come from it, along with slams and crashes.

Then there is silence. They slowly  uncover their eyes and uncurl. 

There, covered in painful fractures that crackle with soul and clutching a broken horn from a larger vessel, stands their sibling.

Thin Horns.

They do not look at Differing Horns, hunched over and panting while they try to pull at their depleted soul reserves. Only when their injuries are as healed as they can be do they turn.

Differing Horns can scarcely believe it when Thin Horns stumbles on unsteady legs towards them. It feels like a lie when their sibling – _ their sibling _ \- collapses before them. But it can only be reality when their weight slumps into the smaller vessel, and their arms wind around, pulling them into a crushing hold.

As soon as it registers that  _ this is real _ , Differing Horns hiccups and throws their arms their arms around them as well. A body, chipped and scuffed and cracked and  _ alive _ , presses into them as desperately as they press back.

They hold each other for what may be forever, crying out their hurt and fear, mourning the dead and lost. 

Differing Horns can’t ask  where their companion is. In the end they do not want to learn what would be worse, Thick Horns being dead, or having abandoned them.

It already hurts too much.

They decide it’s better not to know.

* * *

As they sit there, Thin Horns remembers. 

They were one of the first to hatch, in the beginning, when all that lied at the bottom of the Abyss was rows upon rows off eggs. Hundreds of them, some open, some not. Those were calmer, kinder times, before their first fall.

They remember their twin that  grew  alongside them in the same egg. They woke up and started scraping at the shell at the same time, too. Thin Horns is only the oldest because they fell out first. 

Thick Horns fell right on top of them after, though, so it didn’t feel like much of an achievement at the time.

The beginning was so much better than this. So much happier. When they could explore unhurried and without fear. In those times Thick Horns would not hesitate to speak up when they felt Thin Horns was being reckless, and had no problem sharing opinions of anything within sight.

They helped each other whenever it was needed, just like all the others. They’d make it a game to jump over all those pitfalls, and race against themselves across paths and obstacles. 

It stopped being fun when they saw the first sibling fall. When the rest followed.

None were spared, and the kindness and teamwork died off as siblings did too. With each new wave, everyone became more afraid, and the Light’s Call became stronger. 

It was so hard to think. They could barely hold themself back from just launching themself in its direction. Without their twin to keep them grounded, they may have fallen sooner. 

They were  _ so  _ _ close.  _ They were so close the Light almost felt solid on their shell, piercing through their wings and burning them in its intensity. They got too excited, and they jumped too soon.

Never had they felt fear until they fell. Winds ripping through them, light fading, not being able to see the ground but knowing without a doubt it was coming for them. 

They didn’t see the spikes either, but they felt when their wings were caught, thin grey flaps being torn by one spike, then getting stuck on another. Their back was a void stained mess, peeling shell scratched raw. It hurt, but their fall was slowed enough that they survived.

Their twin followed, taking the longest leaps they could to safely reach them.

They were quieter after that, few words or actions coming from them unprompted. Thin Horns suspects they were concentrating on fighting against the Call. They themself had no problem with it anymore, so they did their best to always keep Thick Horns distracted, and led them deeper into the  tunnels . Can’t follow the Light if you can’t see it.

They kept telling themself that, even when Thick Horns had their head tilted in that one direction. No matter where they went, Thick Horns was always looking towards that horrible, mind numbing Call.

Meeting Differing Horns helped. It gave the two someone to focus on, someone who needed attention and  care.

Who could have  guessed that would be their undoing?

Thick Horns was so scared when that boulder fell. And when they get scared, they make crazy decisions. Decisions like jumping over gaping maws of empty space and gliding on wings that are too thin to do more than grab a gasp of air while chasing Thin Horns as they fell.

They looked at all the death, the Light that demanded more, and decided to let the Light take them.

Thin Horns begged them to turn back. If they would just take a moment to think, to calm down. But they had let the Light grab hold of their mind and will, forcing Thin Horns to hunt after them.

_ BeTakenAway _ _ ,  _ _ LightGone _ _ ,  _ _ SiblingsSafe _ _ ,  _ Thick Horns had reasoned, resolute as they had scaled bodies. 

_EmptyOneGo_ _,_ _SiblingsCanThink_ _CanFeel_ _HaveWill_ _,_ they had argued while preparing for that final leap. 

_SiblingsSafeNow_ _,_ they promised gravely, looking back only once before they follow that _horrible,_ _thieving, murdering Light._

The door closes, Thin Horns falls, and that’s it.

Thick Horns left with their Father, and left their siblings to rot.

Thin Horns can’t hold them responsible, though. They’ve been fighting the Call so long, and it only takes one small slip.  And they thought they were helping. They thought sacrificing themself would save the rest.

It hurts. Their wounds, carved by betrayal and edged with whatever motes of Light they could absorb hurt. The abandoned wails of  Differing Horns hurt. 

No, they can’t blame Thick Horns for leaving. But this hollow wound they have gouged into their hearts? That falls on their shoulders alone.

* * *

The time they are able to comfort each other is both too long and too short, but when the shades start attacking them, they have no choice but to run and hide.

The cave they huddle in, the one with the mysterious heads and markings, is not yet filled with the bodies of vessels. It will happen soon, when another pile collapses and the entrance is blocked, but for now they are safe.

The shades move slowly, but rage and sorrow radiate off them so heavily that it’s visible in the dark particles making up their forms.

The siblings can’t understand. How could anyone look at them, look at the others and decide they are empty? As though these pockets of void are not animated by pained minds, fearful thoughts and broken wills?

They must be blind to not see the resentment soaking the walls. Perhaps they can’t hear, to not be driven mad by the tortured cries. They certainly can’t feel, if the hatred hasn’t left them choking on their own heart.

To name one of their siblings the Hollow Knight, to curse them with a title that demands they be nothing but a shell... the Light is surely a cruel thing,  to damn them as it is damned.

But it is not the only thing  that can bestow titles.

_ Ghost _ , Differing Horns breathes into their siblings' shoulder. A title for the one who left, but came back. For the sibling that has fallen more than once, yet never stopped climbing, even as they stutter and shatter.

_CanHurt_ _,_ _CanDie_ _._ Differing Horns lifts their head to stare them right in the eyes, voice firmer and louder with every word. _CannotStop_ _._ _GhostLeftBehind_ _,_ _GhostThatReturns_ _._ They declare to their startled other. Because if one sibling must be cursed to an empty existence, then they will roar to the Void that _this one will not die_. 

A circle forms around the two, etched and glowing in the ground. It settles down as soon as it appears, becoming one of many in that litter the cave. Nothing seems to happen, so they find no need to care.

That was the last shred of confidence Differing Horns had been able to scrap together. They go quiet again, stewing in their misery.

Their named sibling, Ghost, has nothing to give them in return. No title they could think of to make either of their pain less. So, though they deserve one, they may need to find it themself. Ghost stays silent as well.

* * *

It takes so long to travel now. Going from one side of a tunnel has become both a  struggle and a danger.

Where before Hide had been able to hop for a while on their own, now the ground is covered in rolling heads and other unstable surfaces, making it so they can’t go anywhere without  assistance .

And while the shades may leave Differing Horns be, sometimes even just sitting next to them as though resting, they do not do the same for Ghost. No, the shades do not treat Ghost with  _ anything _ nearing welcome.

In the ever-reaching darkness, Ghost glows. Not brightly, never as vivid as the Light, but everywhere they go they cast a glow that illuminates the road they wander. This glow serves well to lead shades to them.

_TookLight_ _,_ Ghost confessed. _Accident._ _SiblingsSee_ _ThinkMeLight_ _._ _They_ _Attack_ _._ They explain as they continue on.

They decide to go to the tower that shines with Light too. There Ghost can hide, and they will be safe again. 

On their way they see another living vessel. One of the many that has now become the few. The vessel stumbles towards the two, heading the direction they had just left. They do not look up from their feet, leaving the crack in their head perfectly visible. 

The sibling has three horns, two on the left and one on their right. The lone horn is shattered, and the area around it ringed with fractures. One hit there and their head would be broken open like an egg.

Broken Horn passes them, and Ghost thinks nothing of it. But Differing Horns is looking back at them, so the eldest follows suit. Broken Horn has stopped.

_ Careful, _ they whisper to the two, swaying and out of breath.  _ SeaReaches _ _ , Careful.  _ They drawl the words as though dragging them with great  exhaustion . Like forming the words is a heavy task, and the two know it must be. They can’t blame their broken sibling for it.

They stumble on. The two  look at each other uncertainly, and continue on too. There’s nothing they can do  to help their sibling.

The tower that the twins had told Differing Horns about does not shine anymore, leaving Ghost the lone glimmer in these void-stained tunnels. The ocean thrashes in righteous fury, lapping up the dead and washing  nothing back up,  divided and trying to bring itself and everything like it together. 

They keep a careful distance. It is not their time to return yet, and they refuse to get caught by the wrathful tendrils while they still have so much left. 

_ WhereNow _ _? _ Differing Horns asks.  _ NoLight _ _ ,  _ _ NoHide _ _.  _ _ WhereGo _ _? _

Ghost hums, looking around. They pause, then point to the tower.  _ InThere _ _.  _ _ MaybeSafe _ _. _

It might also be interesting. There is no possible way this thing was made by the void, although it is clearly stained. It's too straight, too structured, and stands out like an injury. Thus, it is something new and requires  exploration.

But there is something a little to the side of the ocean that catches Differing Horns’ eye; what looks to be another tunnel.

They point to it. Ghost takes one look and starts dragging them to the tower. 

_ TooDangerous _ _. _

_ NewPath _ _.  _ Differing Horns insists.

_ Too. Dangerous. _

They go to the tower.

* * *

They weren’t wrong, the tower _ is  _ interesting, but once you get used to the sights then it’s nothing spectacular. The monotony isn’t helped by the lack of any other objects or any slight deviation in the construct. 

Differing Horns is bored.

Ghost, exhausted from defending the two and still littered with small injuries, is taking the lack of shades as an opportunity to rest, and did so by finding a comfortable corner to burrow into. Their breath evened out a while ago, leaving Differing Horns with nothing to do. 

They would sleep too, but there seems to be some kind of itch forming under their shell that refuses to let them rest. It’s almost  like their shade is trying to escape, and the only cure would be to find something to occupy themself with. 

There’s also a part of them that wants to stay still, and continue wallowing in their bad feelings. But the more they do it, the less they’ll want to walk around with Ghost. The choice is difficult, but the itch wins.

They take a glance at Ghost to make sure they’re still sleeping, and crawl to the tower  entrance .

Getting down the platforms is a bit of a challenge, but the distance is almost nothing compared to some of the other places they’ve had to fall down. And though Ghost is not here to catch them, they doubt these little tumbles will leave as much as a bruise.

Without their...  _ companion _ , Differing Horns and Ghost have had to be a bit more reckless getting from place to place. And they’ve unfortunately learned that the hole in their dynamic hurts more than any bumps.

Hopping precariously on the pathway that is only _ just _ above the reaching ocean tendrils, Differing Horns tries not to think that Ghost should be right  beside them. They were much more willing to cause mischief when the other was still here. 

But, they suppose, someone has to be responsible, and they _ are  _ the older sibling. And by that strain of logic, it falls to the younger one to cause some trouble.

Maybe that will make Ghost feel better. Maybe they won’t feel so sad about their twin if they’re too busy keeping Differing Horns from getting hurt.

Having a goal makes it easier to ignore the weight pulling them down, and so they reach the other side of the path determined to find something exciting enough to distract themself and Ghost.

Here too the ocean has swept away the bodies, leaving the ground with few tripping hazards. Because of this Differing Horns feels comfortable looking at the jagged stones hanging from the ceiling as they hop. 

Something up there looks a little different from the rest of the spikes. Darker, perhaps deeper?

They venture closer.

It looks like another tunnel, but one that goes up. It’s close enough to the wall that they may be able to climb the rocks to get to it. They decide to do so.

It doesn’t take very long to reach the opening, and at this point they question if they should turn back. Ghost may be awake by now, and panicking. 

That line of though is pushes aside when they feel light pressure on their face and their petals sway. It’s like when they fall and the air whips at them, but much less sharp. For one, the stone digging into their hands has not shifted at all, and neither have they. It’s soft and fleeting, like Ghost’s wings brushing against them while they walk. 

_ They need to see where it’s coming from. _

Differing Horns looks into the deep  darkness of the tunnel.

...After they get Ghost.   


* * *

Maybe leaving without word was cruel, and the fear and anxiety radiating off Ghost made their insides clench, but the elder can’t deny their own curiosity any more than Differing Horns can. So, they go to the tunnel. After chewing the younger out for going so close to the ocean alone, of course.

Differing Horns doesn’t need aid to climb the wall beyond a hoist up here and there, so the two set a decent pace after some  trial and error.

Together they ascend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot begins. I can't wait for you to see what we got in stock for these two sweethearts, but that's sadly for next time.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and kudos on your way out, we love hearing from you! Until next time!


	5. A Bright New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a joy to write, and I hope it's a joy to read.

The tunnel sometimes breaks into multiple paths, many still going up while others go the sides. The siblings floundered a bit, wondering which one to take, before it was decided they would go against the tugging.

What makes them more determined to reach its source is the fact that the tugging is nothing like the Call. For one thing, it doesn’t echo in their heads and sweep away their thoughts. For another, it isn’t tugging them to it, but actually seems to be half pushing them away. Again, almost like when they fall and the air pulls them up, but not so insistent it stings against their shells.

The two are  intrigued . 

There are no siblings or shades up here, making it a nice place even if they do find nothing. There is no need to be disappointed, however, because they notice the  farther they go, the stronger the tug becomes. Still not strong enough to hinder them in the least, but it starts to sweep sand past them and into their cloaks

Differing Horns laughs at Ghost’s irritation, even though the sand getting caught on the petal around their missing leg is making a them uncomfortable. Their sibling constantly opening their wings to shake the sand out and just catching more of it is funny. So is the looks they give Differing Horns, radiating how exasperated they are.

Differing Horns doesn’t bother smothering their joy whatsoever.

The two  hobble forward some more, suffering the sand in pursuit of the gusts. And what they find is not a disappointment at all.

_ Light?  _ Ghost gasps, seeing a ray of light shine around the corner. It’s thin, slithered on a rock as though it is merely peeking, yet it does not falter or fade.

_ No,  _ _ NoLight _ _.  _ _ NoSpread _ _ ,  _ Differing Horns mutters, just as stumped. The Light is... everywhere. This light is not. It does not call. Still...

_ WayOut _ , they breath, then begins jumping excitedly on Ghosts side.  _ FoundOut _ _!  _ _ WayOut _ _! _

They push Ghost away, hopping with the most joy Ghost has ever seen them feel. They feel it themself. Perhaps, out there, they may feel even more. 

They follow their nameless sibling to their freedom.

* * *

_ It’s so bright _ , is what the two  think when they reach the outside. The first thing said however, is:

_ Can’tSee _ _.  _ Differing Horns tries holding their hands over their eyes, but they’re too small. They then take two of their petals, crisscross them and tug the edges to the bases of their horns.

Ghost holds their arm over their eyes, flaring their glow as much as they can to fight against the light. The end result makes it possible for them to see, even if everything is still a  brilliant white haze.

_ VeryBrightTooBright _ _ , _ Ghost agrees. 

They brave this strange new world.

A few minutes later a  patrolling guard comes across them, taking in the odd sight of two small and filthy children toddling around with their eyes covered, stumbling into each other and walls as they go  Wyrm knows where.

“You! Children!” He calls, marching over to them. He has no idea who these two belong to, but they will certainly be getting a talking to- the Palace Grounds are not a kindergarten or playground! 

The two pause their adventure and turn to face him. 

“What are you doing here?” He questions, approaching.

Ghost turns to Differing Horns and excitedly says, _NotSibling_ _NotLight_ _! New!_

Differing Horns bounces in mutual joy.  _ YesYes _ _ New!  _ They wave at the person that they can’t see past their petals.  _ Hello!  _

Ghost waves wildly too.

“This is no place for children, do you hear me? Return to your parents at once!” The guard orders. The two do no such thing. They don’t even speak, just bounce and swing around, likely ignoring him. 

He scowls, “Such rudeness!” He reaches to grab hold of their wrists, and perhaps remove that hideous cloak from the smaller one's face. Where did they even find those? Nothing near the palace is so filthy or darkly stained. 

“Come, once I find your  parents, you’ll-” As soon as the cloak flops down and the arm is gone from the other one’s eyes he chokes.

Those bone smooth faces. Those empty eyes. Shells as dark as soot and as silent as death.

“Two of-?” The guard blurts, stunned.

_ StrangeNew _ , Ghost comments. Differing Horns nods, and when the guard still does nothing, asks,  _ WhatNow _ _? _

_ MaybeGo _ _ ,  _ _ LookMoreNew _ _ ,  _ Ghost says consideringly. 

_ Right, _ Differing Horns says, putting their arm over their eyes.

When they continue hobbling along the guard comes out of his stupor. “Halt!” He orders and slides his nail out of his belt to point at the vessels. “Stay where you are!”

Ghost swiftly turns back to the stranger, staring straight down the edge of his weapon. It’s just as sharp, or maybe even sharper than spikes. This New thing, they see with dread, is dangerous.

They disregard his orders, getting a tighter grip on Differing Horns and bolting _. _

“Stop!”

_ NoNoNo _ _!  _ Ghost panics. They had just gotten out, now they were going to be hurt again! Their sibling is silent as they fearfully try to look at the stranger now chasing them.

“Intruders!!” He roars, and more heavy footsteps thump on the ground as they  pursue the vessels.

Ghost is able to outrun them. They are small, fast, and can jump far enough to escape. But, the thought strikes the younger vessel, Ghost can’t do any of that with Differing Horns clinging onto them.

_ Go, _ they blurt out, fear for their sibling bypassing any self-preservation they have.  _ Go,  _ _ LeaveMe _ _ , Go! _

_ No!  _ Ghost replies incredulously. They pull harder on Differing Horns as they narrowly avoid a guard’s swooping weapon.  _ NotHappening _ _! _

_ Can’tRun _ _ ,  _ _ Can’tCarry _ _!  _ _ GoGoEscape _ _!  _

They trip, and Differing Horns is flung out of Ghost’s grip. When Ghost scrambles to their feet, their sibling stays on the ground.

_ Run!  _ They cry,  _ SiblingSurvive _ _! Go! _

The guards close in, and Ghost is left with no choice. Still, they use a precious second to take one last look at their prone, helpless sibling.

_ GhostThatReturns _ _ , _ they yell, proclaiming for all that it will be so. Then they run.

Ghost will escape, they will grow strong, and they will return to save the vessels.

_ Differing Horns and the Hollow Knight  _ _ will _ _ not die like all the others.  _

Differing Horns can just barely see their sibling run away, the lone dark blur in a world drowned in white. Guards chase after them.

They hope Ghost is fast enough, and sneaky enough, to get away. 

Their head thumps to the ground, and they hiccup and shake as guards with spears form a tight circle around them. 

* * *

They’ve tried kick and wiggling, even pounding their fists onto the stranger’s side, but it’s no use. Differing Horns is trapped in his grip, carried one handed like a sack with no problems from his side.

The guard flanking him has been snickering, teasing comments being tossed over Differing Horns’ screams. They can’t understand, do these strangers not hear them? How are they ignoring their terrified screeching?

“Look at it, squirming like a grub,” The second guard says, voice light and amused. Differing Horns tries to hit their captors' elbow, hoping to maybe hurt the joint. “No, No! Like a grub throwing a tantrum!” Guard Two crows delightedly.

The one carrying Differing Horns scoffs.

“Detainees don’t usually come quietly,” He rumbled, not affected in the least by their near forceless hits. A  gruzzer may as well be bumping into him for all the damage it does.

Guard Two snorts, “I know, but it’s so tiny. Just look at those little limbs trying to get away. Although I don’t know how far it thinks it’s going- not with the leg.”

The guard sighs, coming to a halt in the hall and shaking the child roughly. It stops thrashing. “Never mind that,” He says. “Go and alert the King. He’ll want to know about this.”

Guard Two salutes, “Will do!”

***

“Madam Cotton has been awfully vexed with that one noble, Sir Bellum, lately.”

“Oh? What has he done?”

“I’ve heard talk of him sending her inappropriate gifts and continuously  pestering her about-”

A knock on the door cuts the White Lady off, and the royals look at it in faint surprise. They had both kept this timeslot open so they could spend the afternoon together. No one should be needing them yet.

“Enter!” The Pale King calls, placing his cup on its coaster. A guard comes in and stands at attention.

“Speak.”

“Two bugs have been spotted on the palace grounds, Your Majesty. Only one has been detained, guards are still in pursuit of the other.” He reports shortly.

“And why must I be alerted right this instant? From the sound of it, the guards have the situation well in hand,” the King asks pointedly, daring the guard to answer for his interruption of what little free time the Pale King gets these days. 

The guard wavers, then says, “The intruders resemble the Hollow Knight, Your Majesty. It’s a very uncanny resemblance,” he adds nervously.

“Describe them.”

“White masks enveloping their heads, pitch black eyes, black bodies with no segmentation we can see, and cloaks attached to their shells. They are also very short.” 

The King’s gaze narrows, and the guard gulps. Then he says, “Leave us,” and the guard flees as calmly as he can.

The Pale King looks down to the tea still in his cup, the murky waters mimicking his quickly sinking mood.

If what the guard says is true, then that means two vessels have escaped. It should be impossible; the door he built and sealed himself should have ensured that. And yet...

The caverns of the Abyss are large and sprawling, and he already suspects there may be an opening in Deepnest. Only rumors- as he has never been able to get close enough to the village to see for himself- but the possibly that there is an exit on or near the palace grounds unsettles him.

Even now he can feel his sins smear small, inky handprints down his robe, for all he knows nothing stains the pure white material.

“Dear?”

He startles and looks to his wife, smiling serenely at him. He blinks himself out of his thoughts.

“Yes, my Root?” She takes a sit from her tea before answering, and he waits patiently.

“The  vessel they caught; it’s mine now.”

He tenses, “Excuse me?”

“I said that the vessel is mine,” she repeats, mild as milk, yet with an undercurrent of sharp steel.

The King is shaking his head before she finishes, drawing out of his chair and tucking his arms into his robe. “No, keeping another is pointless,” he tells her. “It’s best to get rid of it and seal wherever the vessels escaped from. It’s too dangerous to-”

“Are you going to deny me another one of my children?”

The Pale King draws short, a sudden spike of old guilt surging through his chest anew. He takes a fortifying breath, and explains, “It is an empty creature, my Root. There is no use in keeping it.”

It’s an explanation he’s  repeated every time she tried to bond with the Hollow Knight. It is never easier to tell her that it cannot feel the love for her that she tries to show it.

It isn’t any easier now.

The White Lady’s cup hits the coaster with a harsh  _ clink _ .

“ I _ know _ it is an empty creature. That  _ was  _ why you wanted my children, remember? To scrape them hollow and fill them with void.” She says, eyes piercing through him. He has nothing to say in the face of her sudden bitter stare.

“And I let you take them, and I ignored the scent of  _ my own brood _ that stuck to you for months before you threw them to the Abyss. I was kind enough to say nothing when you came back  _ splattered  _ with what is now their blood.” She continues and his insides twist in remorse and regret.

“Then you brought home one of our children, my Wyrm,” She says gently. “You brought home my own flesh and blood, but it’s not really _mine_ , is it? No, what you brought into our home was a _mimicry_ of all we could have held dear.

“The Hollow Knight is but a shell for your plans, my dearest. That’s why I can’t love it.”

She raises herself and comes to stand right in front of him. If the King were taller, they’d be chest to chest.

“But here is a vessel that failed,” she murmurs demurely, as though her every word doesn’t rip a cloth off the truths that he so desperately tries to ignore.

“That vessel failed your test, so it is useless to you. Why can’t it be mine then? You have your Hollow Knight, and you said there is no point in you keeping the others.”

He is silent, but she awaits an answer. Finally, with a heavy heart and mind, he says, “As you wish, my love. All I ask is you not bring it near me. I do not wish to see it.”

His Lady nods and smiles at him, as though their pleasant conversation had not taken a turn for the worst at all. “Of course, my dear Wyrm,” She bends down and lays a loving hand on his face. He leans into it.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” She returns to her full height and moves to the door. “I must prepare for my new child.”

He watches her go, and once the door closes, he lets out a ragged breath and collapses into his chair. He reminds himself that there is no use crying over what could have been.

The tea that was so lovely before now tastes bitter and cold.

***

The two guards eventually started moving again, this time following a third person draped in white. The person came to them a bit after the second guard returned, and with a lone look to Differing Horns scowled and ordered them to the bathing chambers.

Differing Horns tried escaping again, but one scathing glare from the third stranger left them scared and obedient. They decided to cover their eyes again instead, to dull the pain blooming in their head.

They won’t be able to stop an attack anyway, so there’s no point to burning their eyes.

Now the strangers have entered somewhere with damp air, and the echoes bounce off more walls than it did before. There are light splashing noises nearby, and the chatter of another person. Differing Horns feels overwhelmed by all these new, scary things they can’t see.

The guard holding them lifts them up before they can think more of it, and a new pair of hands grabs hold under their arms. They are then carried a few steps away and around, and lowered until their legs dangle into something wet.

They yank them up, fearing the liquid would cling like the void ocean, but it doesn’t. 

The stranger has no regards for their anxiety, and lowers them until they end up sitting in the liquid. The stranger keeps a hand on their back and pulls their petals from their eyes.

The liquid they sit in is clear and warm, coming up to the middle of Differing Horns’ chest. They cautiously swing their little hands around, meeting a light resistance, but also making pretty waves. They decide they like this liquid.

“That’s better, we can see that face of yours now.” 

Differing Horns looks up the stranger, coming face to face with a roundish bug with big eyes and a  cloth in their hand. The bug smiles at them.

“There we go,” She says, dipping the cloth into the basin of liquid and squeezing it out over their head. “No need to make a fuss. Those big bugs are scary, but they don’t mean harm, alright?”

The cloth is run over their head, and they decide this is strange and confusing. First the guards want to hurt them, now they don’t? And what is this one  _ doing? _

The bug laughs and readjusts her grip so Differing Horns can’t slip away. “Oh, I remember when my brood was this young, getting into the most disastrous messes,” she rants to the stranger in white standing to the side. Differing Horns only notices now that the guards -  _ with their big, very-much-meant-to-hurt weapons -  _ are gone. 

A faint thought whispers that they might be searching for Ghost, and the bug easily pulls them back when they lunge for the edge of the basin.

She giggles and glances to the other bug. “Have I told you of when they snuck into the pens, Cushion? Stunk like dead flock for days,” she recalls fondly.

The bug pulls a face and answers tersely, “You did, Bedi. Now, please, cease yammering and get to work. As soon as you are done, you can go back to polishing plates.”

The bug washing them slumps, but there’s no pause in her effortless and mechanical cleaning. Differing Horns is starting to shine, scuffed where it’s not glossy chitin being revealed as dust, dirt and void sloshes away with the liquid.

“Alright, if you insist,” she sighs. 

Differing Horns’ petals are first inspected, rinsed, and then individually washed with a cloth. The bug is especially careful with the edges where they are torn. She mutters something about ‘scissors’ and ‘tearing’, of which they only understand one, and still has no problem keeping the child from escaping her gentle hold.

“Almost done, dear, just a little longer,” the bug smiles, finding amusement in what she thinks is restlessness. She finishes their whole leg, taking a moment to tickle the bottom of their foot, and moves to the other one.

The smile is replaced with a concerned frown when the void is washed off and reveals the messy, tattered petals still bandaging their wound. 

The petals are a dull, lifeless gray, as opposed to the off-white that Differing Horns has. Pieces have cracked and drifted into the basin, while other pieces have healed onto the leg.

The bug takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Cushion?” She calls to the bug in white. “I may need some  assistance .”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need you to hold the child so I can clean their leg.” She takes another look at the flaking void. “Perhaps some  bandages too.”

The other bug nods and says, “I’ll call for someone now.”

“Just call for the bandages,” the bug rolls her eyes. “Surely you aren’t so high and mightily you can’t get a bit wet?”

“Ugh, fine!” They open the door and talk to someone standing outside. Then they close the door and huff, “If you were anyone else, your adviser would be hearing from me.”

“Just get over here.”

Differing Horns is confused at what’s going on, and has no idea what to do when the bug lifts them up and hands them to the other one. The bug in white then sits on a nearby stool and holds them tightly around their middle, keeping one hand on their whole leg. 

“Perfect! Now just keep them still.” The cleaner bug  kneels in front of them, grabs hold of their wounded leg, and starts ripping off all the petals she can reach. 

Void starts trickling again, and Differing Horns starts shrieking and trying to kick out. They hadn’t realized how sensitive the wound was until it was torn and picked at. 

_ Stop!  _ _ StopHurts _ _! _

The two are deaf to their pleas. 

“Oh no, some of it is fused to the scar itself.”

“Better get it out then.”

“Sorry darling, it going to be a bit worse now.”

Differing Horns can’t tell who says what, but the next moment a cloth is pressed against their leg, and starts  _ rubbing.  _

They scream and thrash and hit, but nothing helps. The bug only pauses to check her progress and carries on. Differing Horns is half-hysterically with pain and wailing, but, of course, the bugs hear nothing.

It finally stops, and the child barely registers being rinsed, dried, and properly bandaged. They are then wrapped in a soft blanket and handed off.

They push their face into a chest to escape the  _ horrible, horrible light. _ Their head pounds in sync to their leg.

They enter a new room.

“Your Majesty, they are here.”

“Wonderful.”

A large shadow falls over them, reaching long limbs to hold them. They are passed over with no fuss.

“Hello, my child.”

They are cradled to her chest, and huge blue yes stare  lovely at them.

Differing Horns is too exhausted and hurt to even attempt fighting, and instead falls into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Palace, everyone. We got food, drinks, and a desperate need for a family therapist.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and kudos on your way out, we love hearing from you! Until next time!


	6. An Echo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peaks out from behind a pile of textbooks:* ...I'm alive?
> 
> So i am smack dab in the middle of finals, which is why i haven't posted in forever. To all who fear the fic is dropped, no worries. The update schedule just had a fight with a blender, and lost.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

When Differing Horns woke up in the hold the very large stranger, they were scared. Their arms were pinned by the soft cloth they were wrapped up in, and trying to wiggle out only caused the person to shift their grip and hold tighter. Kicking proved to be useless too, because whoever wrapped them up did it _ properly _ .

They stopped kicking when their wounded leg started crying  its protest, and just laid still. The person holding them hummed contently and lifted them a bit to nuzzle their face.

The sound of bone and smooth _ something  _ is a noise that scratches at their ears.

Differing Horns tries to look around, but their sight isn’t much better than it was last time they were conscious. They can just barely see outlines and patches of what might be shadows. Things move in their peripheral, sweeping from one corner of the room to the other, but always staying a distance away.

One approaches, and speaks in a voice that makes them think of the tower by the sea.

“My Queen, I have news.”

Strong and loud, the words carry over the constant murmur and rustling that runs through the room and leaves their head buzzing. The figure bows, and the queen, as this person is called, starts petting their head.

“Speak,  Dryya .”

The figure stands, and their attention is drawn to the shiny object she holds at her side. It’s thin, and glimmers in a color that’s not quite white, but too bright to be grey. 

“The King has sealed the unknown entrance to the Abyss. Nothing else will be coming out.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“The other child has not been caught. Going by their speed, they may be in the City of Tears or the Fungal Wastes by now.”

_ Ghost?  _ Differing Horns wonders. It has to be, no one else left the birthplace with them. That means Ghost got away too. They drop their head deeper into the Queen’s arm, dizzy with relief.

“That’s fine,” the Queen hums, smiling down at them. “It does not matter now. Let it escape; it won’t survive long in the wilds.”

Differing Horns stiffens, but she continues to stroke,  ignorant .

“Are you certain, my Lady?”

“My dearest  Wyrm has his Pure Vessel, and I have my own child now. What need have we for extras?” She says hollowly. Words heard and repeated dozens of times. 

Even if she could keep every single child that had been taken by Void, it would be pointless. They would not be children. Each would be as empty as the one in her arms, and her heart would suffer for it. Best she holds  only one.

The figure,  Dryya , brings her head down. “As you say, my Lady.”

Events start to blur again, their mind consumed by the overwhelming light that they can’t block, and the endless chatter that seems to get louder with their every breath. They long for the quiet darkness of the void, where they were held by their beloved Ghost and Thick Horns, not this large and scary stranger.

A while later the Queen hands them over to  Dryya and walks off.  Dryya struggles for a moment to juggling them and her weapon, then settles with cradling them and keeping the blade horizontally in the hand by their head. Like this she can slip through doors and not accidently decapitate someone. 

She walks through the halls to her Lady’s wing where the child’s room has been set up. It’s only a few doors away from the Queen’s room, easily distinguished by the flower carved into the frame above the entrance.

It takes some more maneuvering to hold the child in one arm and put aside her nail for a moment so she can turn the doorknob. Soon both of them can enter.

A pure white room meets  Dryya’s eyes, like every other room in the King and Queen’s palace. 

She moves to the wall facing the door, where an iron cradle lined with soft fabric stands. To her left is a reflective closet that she knows does not yet hold any clothes, and a full-length mirror with a stool placed beside it. To her right is a desk and chair. The room is otherwise empty.

As  Dryya places the child in their crib, she wonders if the Pure Vessel’s room looks similar. She knows that their crib was very much the same, if with less plant carvings, and that there is a closet for their cloaks. 

But the Pure Vessel is empty, given what it needs and wanting nothing more. Do they have a desk to draw, or a mirror to dress up?

Do they squirm like the Queen’s child does when held, or fight to escape it’s bed like the child does now?

The child is much more energetic than she thought it would be. It could likely be pent up energy from being held so long and having taken a rest during that time.

“No, no,” she chides, nudging the child back when they get their hands out of their blanket and start pulling themself to the edge of the crib. “You’re going to fall, small thing.” 

They continue regardless.

Perhaps they need to play a little.  Dryya would have to watch them so she can put them to bed later, but there’s no tasks she has that are urgent, and her Lady isn’t expecting her back for a while yet. Staying  a bit won’t hurt anything, she decides.

Picking the child up and placing them on the ground is easy, and she takes a few steps back to stand against the wall and watch them. 

The child does not move for a moment, seeming to observe her from within their blanket. Then the child scoots back until they hit the wall, and pulls the blanket up and over their head, leaving them but a lump under the soft woven fabric.

She watches bemused as the child crawls slowly, with one arm regularly sweeping out in front of them. They keep almost tipping over, repeatedly getting the fabric caught under their limbs. 

One such slip has them bumping into the thankfully nearby closet. They fall backwards onto their bottom and rub their head through the blanket, which falls off and once again reveals the pale face that so resembles her Lady. It, in turn, reveals to the child the smooth, reflective metal the closet doors are plated with.

The child stills, then leans until their arms are needed to keep them from falling into the metal again. It occurs to  Dryya that this is the first time they had ever seen their own reflection.

“That’s you,” She informs the vessel. They look to her, back, and then to her again. 

They point to their chest and tilt their head, as though asking, ‘Who, me?’

“Yes, that’s you in the mirror.” She props her nail against the wall and goes to join the child by the closet. They scoot back, craning their neck to keep her face in view, so she sits cross legged and lifts them into her lap. Both of them face the closet now.

“Look,” The great knight points to her reflection. “I’m there too now.”

The queen’s child keeps swerving their little head,  trying to keep track of her and the mirror at the same time. Then they try to keep track of their own movement. 

They look fascinated by the reflection that copies everything they do.

Amazing, what simple things can entertain one so young,  Dryya muses.

Time passes quickly like that, with the Queen’s trusted knight watching over the Queen's child. It could have been perhaps an hour that the small one in her lap played with their reflection before they started flagging, and it was time to put them to bed.

Dryya picks them up, and they go along with it much more easily than they had before. The blanket slips to the floor.

A jolt of surprise shoots through her when, instead of two legs, one thin leg and one wrapped-up stump brushes her arm. 

_ Oh. _ So that’s why they couldn’t crawl properly. That’s... good to know, although she would have appreciated if someone had told her of the child’s ailment beforehand.

No matter, they must still be put to bed. 

Dryya bends down to pick the blanket back up, and places both her burdens into the crib. They child does not move.

She leaves, content with a completed task.

* * *

Things are calmer, when Differing Horns awakes again. No less blinding, and their head feels muddled with too many thoughts and feelings, but the constant noise has been muffled. It’s almost as silent as their birthplace- were their birthplace not littered with the dead. 

The one that placed them here has gone, her absence leaving unbroken white walls staring back at them.

Everything was white still, a bit more bearable, but so reminiscent of the Light that it made their stump ache anew and their insides squirm, petals being shifted to cover them from the brightness around.

They wait and wait for the brightness to dim, and wait some more. The passing of time is a hard thing to process, but when nothing happens for what they assume is a long while,  they move their petals away  and  attempt a glance at their surroundings.

_White_ _white_ _white_ all around them, from the roof and walls to the round bowl they can’t roll out of. A softness unlike anything they’ve felt before is under them, a strange malleable surface for Differing Horns to grip and pull themself to their stomach. The softness around them gets caught on their horns as they turn though, forcing them to flop around with tiny arms that can't reach to wiggle it loose. 

(Differing Horns feels a moment of panic that turns into a moment of terror. But then it’s gone, leaving them bewildered.)

They feel around the bowl they are in- the same one the person with the shining object had placed them into earlier. Most of it is lined with the softness, warm and comfortable, and they find they like it. It feels as smooth as their petals.

Going higher, their hand reaches the edge of the bowl, hitting a hard material with light patterns etched into it. They trace those for a bit before starting to pull themself from the softness.

The child’s gaze once again lands on the ‘mirror’,  Dryya had called it, looking to the dark specks in this forever-white.

That must be them reflected in the metal, because it had reflected Dryya as well, and wasn’t that strange? A surface unlike any other they had ever seen, that shows what is shown to it without swallowing the entire image. So unlike hard stone, coarse sand, and the ever-consuming dark sea of their birthplace. 

What about this makes them want to destroy it? Smash through that surface like a pile of sand and drag its broken pieces down these walls? Why did they feel this desperate need to tear all of this unmarred, unfeeling white to the ground?

Is it because it looks too much like the Light? From every corner and every crevasse, it shines upon them, and when they look to the  floor they feel ill. It’s very close, but the fear of falling chokes them and forces them back into the white, too bright softness.  _ Everything here is too bright. _

Too bright, yet Differing Horns can still see their face, the face of Ghost, the face of Thick Horns,  _ the face of every sibling now dead- _

Their eyes reflect the emptiness of the shades and the sea and all the thrashing hatred that their birthplace became when the Light left. And then it’s as though they notice a well inside them, having been slowly filling all this time.

It overwhelms them, sadness and misery lodging in their heart and anger and pain making a home in their chest. They grip tight to the softness and wrack as though to shake these feelings loose. 

(It feels too much for them, too much for one to small. _ Where does all of this come from, _ they wonder distantly as they spirals.)

They jerk and hit and slam around the bowl, eventually falling backwards, but not stopping. This all feels too much, and hurts too much, and the light is staring to blind them again. Their limbs and heart hurt, and the sound of rustling softness grinds on their ears. 

They scream long and loud, trying to drown it all out, trying to call for their lost siblings. They just want their siblings back; they just want to lie with them in the alcove where nothing hurt them. Not these strangers, not the bright, just them three in the quiet dark.

But no one comes for them, and their thrashing falls away to miserable shivers. The child curls into the bowl, and  everything falls away into numb exhaustion.

(Everything falls away into numb confusion and fear as something,  _ someone _ wanders to lands far beyond their reach. Emotions resonate between two bonded siblings, echoing as one forgets, and the other despairs.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to over stimulation hell. This is why people wear sunglasses after being trapped in mines, cause like, bright light equals oww.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and kudos on your way out, it feeds the brain racoon. Until next time!


	7. Small Comforts, Large Irritants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. It's been a while. What can i say except ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Anywhosels, have some more characters!

They huff as the strings are pulled, tightening the fabric around their middle and restraining any flexibility they may have had. Their petals are arranged to fall to their sides and show off how they match the brightness now. 

Differing Horns does their best not to scratch the fabric that somehow feels stiff and itchy, even as it flows around their leg. It feels as though every brush of their white skirt drags sand along their soft shell, and it’s going to drive them mad. 

The blue ribbon around their neck is borderline choking them, but if they were to loosen it, their mother would just make it tighter. 

Their mother hums happily at their reflection, leaving them to sit on the stool before the mirrors while she selects an ornament from their new jewelry box. 

An intricate flower, made of thin wire and blue glass is slipped onto their right horn. It is light, yet they cannot help but notice its presence whenever they move their head. 

“Now we match.” Their mother smiled, admiring their white clothing with its blue accents. They’re the same shade as her bright, slightly foggy eyes. 

As she picks Differing Horns up, their stomach lurches. Their mother gives off a glow, somehow brighter than the walls, and as she moves, they are blinded. They can’t see what halls she walks down, can’t tell left from right, not anymore. It feels like they’re being spun around, their insides liquid and sloshing with every step. 

They must be passing rooms, because suddenly there is so much noise. Chatter and clicking feet and something somewhere breaks with a shatter. Their head is ringing still when from a different direction the sounds of clashing and sharp _shings_ of metals coming together and being pulled apart join the chaotic mess, followed by a thump and yelp. 

Fabric sways and drags across the floor and their shell and their senses. There is someone humming or singing or something in between, and their mother's arms readjust roughly around them and the steps she takes are too loud on too white tiles- 

_(_ _The stones are too sharp for too soft feet-_ _)_

Scratching at their ears- 

_(The wind is howling so loud there’s no escape-)_

Differing Horns is pulled from differing sensations when their mother's murmurs become audible to them. 

“-o awful, truly the lowest of low creatures. Demanding- _and taking!_ \- an heir, sooner than I! Her insolence is beyond what I had thought bugs capable of before. That awful _Beast_ _-_ ” 

The smell of leaves ( _it smells like them_ ) overwhelms them for a moment when their mother enters her favorite place, and the powerful scent of fresh cut and fresh pruned plants is so strong it makes them want to throw their liquid insides up and out. The fabric of their clothing shifts, course and rough although it is soft and heavy. 

“-have a child of my own now, and it’s a blessing in this trying time. That horrid infection keeps rising, no matter how my dearest tries to strike it down, and he hasn’t been able to spend as much time wi-” 

They almost fade out of themself, like the world goes away even with them trapped in the center of it. When it comes back, they are being moved again. Did they stop moving before? 

Their head feels like it’s going to bust when their mother (their parent is dark, dark and calling and beckoning and oh so full of anger now) puts them down. It’s the same bench they are sat on when she tires of holding them in her lap. Made of gleaming metals and elegant arches and placed between two small trees in decorated containers, it’s a very pretty location to put the child. 

“Oh, look here, my child; someone left you a present, a new cloak! I ‘ll have to write them a thank you note, it’s very kind of them. It looks the right size, too. Here, let’s try it on.” 

Something scratchy is pulled on and around their horns and there is pressure below their skull, where soft shell meets the hard surface and as the fabric closes in, they suddenly cannot _breathe._ As they look down their grey petals are hidden away and overtaken with _white._

“Oh, it’s absolutely precious!” 

They gasp silently as their mother gives a clap of amusement. 

“I can’t wait for that pesky arachnid to go to sleep. Then you’ll have a sister, my child, and I'll have two little ones to care for, one even alive! Isn’t that such a lovely thought, child?” 

She wanders to her seat, looking out to her garden and picking up a cup to drink from. Differing Horns looks for some way to escape. 

“Spider children love fabrics, don’t they? I’m sure the Gendered Child will have a grand time trying on all the things I've planned for you two. I just know we’re going to have so much fun!” 

She’s distracted by a stray retainer holding a tray, and they see their chance. Tugging at the cloak to grant them a bit of air, the child slips off the bench and crawls behind a bush. They then crawl as fast as their panicked little body will to one of the doorways, and gets out of there. 

Noise erupts behind them a few seconds moments as they duck behind any object or pillar that offers even a smidgen of darkness. 

Tiny claws finally manage to claw something apart and the cloak loosens. And as they draw in sweet, refreshing air, their eyes are drawn to a passing person. 

As stark as the light in the abyss, they see a figure draped in something that isn’t quite black, but is as close as they’ve ever seen here. 

It's _so_ close to the image of safety and home, and as the figure passes their hiding place, Differing Horns can’t help but lunge forward and throw themself under it. The heavy fabric envelopes them in a net of calm warmth, and they hide and shake and cling to the figure’s leg and wish they’d never left the Abyss. 

“!...” 

The figure stills, and mere seconds later the child can hear the retainers tap-tap-tapping through the halls, the sound slightly muffled now. Differing Horns shivers and holds tighter. 

“Si-sir Watcher the Luri- I mean, Lurien the Watcher Sir- I mean-!” 

“...” 

“Have-Have you, by any chance, see-seen the Queen’s child run past?” 

“...” 

“I... see. Thank, thank you.” 

They rush away with as much dignity two panicking bugs can have, and Lurien watches them go, vaguely confused and mostly tired. The bug under his cloak, presumably this child, slumps in what he assumes is relief, but makes no move to let him go. 

He wiggles his leg, takes a few steps, and even lifts his cloak a bit to look at the child, but all that happens is they wrap themself fully around him and hide their face in his chitin. 

Shy? Or perhaps embarrassed? But if that were the case, the child wouldn't have run to him in the first place. 

Lurien lifts his cloak a bit higher, but lowers it when the cloth’s shadow leaves the child’s face and they flinch. 

That... he can understand that. 

For all that Lurien adores his King, and basks in His glorious Light that illuminates the minds of Hallownest, he will also be the first to admit it can be a bit much. To the unprepared bug, a mere glimpse at the King’s Light can feel overwhelming. And this brilliant palace His Majesty resides in was built to take that Shine and spread it to every wall and corner of every room. 

He can imagine to a child it would very likely be painful to look at. 

But Lurien can’t just stay here- he has tasks to complete, duties to fulfill, and at this moment, a meeting to attend. 

But he also can’t just leave the poor thing, not when they shiver against his leg like a tiktik grub left in the City’s rain. 

Lurien takes a moment to think, and decides, so be it. The child will just have to come with him. And since he can’t very well carry around the Queen’s currently missing child- and he doubts they’d leave the comfort of darkness- he’ll just be sure to walk carefully. 

He wears so much cloth to combat the chill of the City and Rain, he doubts anyone will notice an extra fold or two of movement. 

* * *

The child rests on a pile of cloth Lurien had subtly pilled under them as he sat down, thankful that they were quiet and content to not move. He hopes they stay like that for the next while, or this meeting may take a completely different turn than intended. 

Not that it’s going the way it should, anyway; a series of meetings have been set up so the three of them, future Dreamers, could learn to get along before they are trapped in a dream together for the next millennia. 

They have instead been arguing from the start to the end each time, sometimes having started before even fully in their seats. 

It wouldn’t be so bad were he with anyone else. Lurien watches over an entire City of bugs. He used to lead an entire army. The Watcher is used to the occasional disagreement between bugs and is well versed in breaking it apart if things become violent. But he is also used to fights reaching a conclusion, and a unanimous discission being decided on. 

What he is not used to is having to work with someone as forceful and unyielding as stone, or someone as carefree and all over the place as water. 

And no matter what they try talking of, conversation always goes back to one matter. The infection. 

It happens so fast today he wonders if they were arguing before he even arrived. 

“What are you two even doing, secluded in those fancy buildings of yours?” Herrah sneers, glaring at them with all six of her eyes. “Counting the infected and watching them lumber around, what an _important_ task you’ve been _burdened_ with.” 

“Excuse you, Queen Herrah,” Monomon interrupts, trying to float up and above them both to grant herself an advantage. Lurien holds back a world-weary sigh. “I don’t see _you_ doing anything to contribute to our research.” 

“You don’t need research, you need tactics! Simply telling us that the infection is spreading means nothing if we have no way to stop it!” 

“Well, this infection can’t be stopped by throwing your needle at it either! What we need is to take as many dream-touched bugs as possible, and search for both a reason and a cure to their illness.” 

“And right after staring at them you’ll send them on their merry way too, won’t you? No, they need to be killed and thrown in a pit, not left to stumble around like drunk gruzzers.” 

There is a solution, or at least progress when one combines both of their arguments. There might be compromise, and even perhaps a breakthrough possible if they would just _listen to each other._

Yet here they are, picking and harping like it will fix every single problem they have. 

“Queen Herrah, please. I just want to know if you’ve heard word from the Mantis Tribe.” That was all he had asked. He needs to know if they will be willing to train the city guards to more efficiently defend the people. All he wants her to do is ask them to meet with him. A simple yes and no, and perhaps an attached time and place for negotiation; it would have taken her less than a minute to tell him. 

She gives him such a disdainful look it almost pierces the numb haze this meeting has dragged him into. “I will not do your work for you Watcher. I am not one of your little nannies.” 

It takes a moment and a hard blink for him to register the insult. Is... Is she comparing him to _a child?_

He bites back a growl at the disrespect, but cannot stop from tensing under his many layers. Neither of his arguing companions notice. 

The little form he almost forgot about, however, does. They loosen their grip and inch back a bit, then seem to rub their hand on his leg. 

The child is attempting to comfort or calm him, Lurien assumes. Odd, but sweet of them. 

As the meeting progresses and all The Watcher says goes unheard, he decides to mentally wander off and leave the two to it. A little extra time to plan how to evacuate the city is much more useful than bashing his head against the personified forces of a steel wall. 

He knows they’ve both seen, and even killed infected bugs, but they don’t seem to register how dire this infection is. He does. 

Lurien is in the dead center of the Old Light’s Rage. He has seen bugs from all standings, all ages, all ends of the kingdom succumb to butter-soft dreams. He saw silk-smooth cysts grow where rot had made their shells burst. 

He and the guards of the City have had to herd these bugs to a private location to kill them, because at some point they swell so much with infection that they _blow up._ And that horrible, deathly-sweet smelling orange splatters the walls and lingers in the air, taking more of his citizens faster than he can save them. 

The only solution they have is to seal it away in the physical manifestation of nothing, where no tendrils of dreams can seep out of the ever-yawning emptiness. 

And the only thing it would cost him is his life. 

For his people, his City and his King he would gladly die a thousand deaths. He will fall into that cursed sleep with Monomon and Herrah, and he will Watch the seal for an eternity to ensure it doesn’t so much as chip. 

Yet the voice inside his head, an echo of his days as general, insists he be prepared. Make plans upon plans, establish truces, and ensure as many as possible escape before.... he does not listen to it further than that. 

His faith and adoration will always be with His Majesty, but his mind will always be thinking of his people. 

He comes back to the discussion when Monomon lets out a sigh he did not know her body could make. She slumps over with a tendril placed against her mask. 

“If only His Majesty had let me keep one of those void constructs. Thousands thrown into the abyss and he only brings out _one!_ ” 

“Whatever would you use it for? To play house like The Root does with hers?” Herrah laughs, all caustic humor. 

Monomon startles and looks at her, as does Lurien. The child against his leg is of void? 

“She just has one to play house?” Monomon asks incredulously. “The culmination of years of research, a walking container of replenishing void, safe for handle and testing, and she has it _playing house?_ ” 

“Not merely that, she calls it her child. I’ve not seen it yet, but I’ve heard of your ‘nobles’ sending child sized clothes and baubles to win her favor.” 

“ _Oh no_ , don’t tell me she’s treating it like it’s alive.” Monomon’s moans, voice full of pity and exasperation. Lurien registers a different kind of numbness settling over his mind as the vessel, the _child_ flinches against him. 

“Better an alive child than an empty one.” Gods he wishes they would be quiet while he deciphers this feeling that’s come over him. 

“I may as well have asked for one of his vessels if I wanted a child who could not strategize and lead. But then again,” The beast mutters. “If my daughter doesn’t begin acting like a proper Deepnest heir and stop tinkering I may just throw her to the Abyss myself.” 

Ah, of course, Lurien thinks as he abruptly stands, shifting his leg towards the child so they hold tighter. What he feels is rage, carefully controlled to not impede his action, trained so since he learned to hold a nail. 

He starts walking away from these two fools, who cannot tell a child from a vase and a tool from a living being. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Herrah demands as he makes for the door. 

Lurin does not even spare them a glance as he goes. “Somewhere my words will be heard, because that clearly is not here.” 

“Watcher-” 

The door closes on Monomon’s call, and he marches stiffly past startled retainers and guards, determined to get to his designated room before he gives into the urge to summon a nail over someone's head. 

The moment the door shuts behind him and he reaches his bed, The Watcher lifts his mask and screams into a pillow. 

These meetings cannot be over fast enough, and if he never has to be the ignored voice of reason again then all in the world will be good. Of course, that’s not happening for a while yet, so he sighs with all his might and throws the pillow to the side. Next, he readjusts his mask to once again expose nothing but his mind’s eye, and lifts his cloak to see the child. 

They look the same as last time, if not more ruffled. They breathe hard against his leg, clearly having been tired out by his sudden fast walk, and he feels a bit of guilt making them run to keep up. 

“Come here, small one,” he murmurs, bowing down to pack them up under their arms. They cling a bit, but relent to his gentle tugging. Lurien holds them against his chest for a moment as he looks for some pace to put them. 

He’s not one who knows what to do with children, for all that he likes them, and surely the retainers are in a frenzy looking for them. But frankly, right no Lurien is not in the mood to explain why he has them, and he’s sure the child doesn’t mind staying with him for a while further. 

In the end Lurien decides to lie on his bed, the child tucked between his arm and side. They wiggle a bit then shove their eyes back against his clothing, then settle down. 

Lurien savors this moment of peace, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

Children like stories, don’t they? 

“There’s a place, not too far from these halls of splendor and light, where misty blue shadows stretch over wet pillars of glass...” 

* * *

Faintly, the Watcher thinks, the Queen’s child is alive. What of the King’s? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luuuuurrriiiieeeeeen. We like him. He gets cookies and tea. Herrah and Monomon get to sit in a corner and argue each other into circles. 
> 
> Also yay! Differing Horns finally gets to chill in a nice darkish place. And a bedtime story. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudos and comment on your way out, it sustains thought jellyfish. Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> That was shorter than i was hoping, but hopefully it came out right! 
> 
> Here's some of my notes for any who are curious:  
> How do I talk about the Vessels cloaks without calling them skin or wings? Because I doubt they hatch with clothes, so those must be attached to them somehow.  
> Wait. Their mom is the Root. What if… those cloaks are petals?? Some Vessels grow wings that wrap around them, and some have petals.  
> That’s it. That’s cannon now.
> 
> Please leave a comment and kudos! And tell me what you think, i adore opinions and ideas! Thanks for reading and remember to sleep at least a few hours a night. Until next time!


End file.
